


Imagine If

by TheLateNightStoryTeller



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: And also one longer AU, F/M, Ooops, Short AU collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLateNightStoryTeller/pseuds/TheLateNightStoryTeller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine if Fitzsimmons... were Gym Leaders in the Pokemon Games... Were a Fairy Tale.... Were in a Horror Movie... A collection of Fitzsimmons oneshots in Imagine If scenarios. The title is, of course, based on the game ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pokemon Heart Gold (Gym Leader AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, FItzsimmons are Gym Leaders and you are the player completing your journey and running into them along the way.

## Fitz

\- He is the first of the two that you face but he is not the first gym leader on your journey (maybe the second or third).   
  
\- He is not in his gym when you go looking. His underlings tell you that he has been hauled up in a research facility at the end of the nearby route, manically trying to solve the mystery of a strange rock  
  
\- When you find him, he tells you that he doesn’t have time to battle anyone right now. He mumbles something about looking for someone and your character is confused because all he is doing is analyzing a rock. He tells you he might consider challenging you if you find him a rare item in a cave along the route 

\- You find the item, bring it to him, and the rock lights up. A woman’s voice can be heard from the other side and he gets very excited. But then the light fades, and the rock goes back to being a rock. He is disappointed but, well, a deal is a deal and he agrees to allow your challenge just as long as you “make it quick”.  (He still has work to do after all). 

\- You arrive at his Gym and find that it is crawling with Steel/Electric trainers. He’s also set up a series of puzzles, which you need to use his inventions in order to solve (drones, anti-gravity boots, at one point you have to find a tool to cut through walls). 

\- You finally battle him and he has 4 Pokemon. A Votorb, a Magnemite, a Magneton and, surprisingly, a Mankey. 

\- When you manage to defeat him, his finale words are “I’m sorry Jemma.” 

\- He gives you the badge, a TM, and sends you on your way. When you return to the gym later, he isn’t there anymore. 

You will not see Fitz again for a while

 

## Jemma (Where is she?) 

 - Jemma is the sixth or seventh gym leader you need to face but when you reach her gym, a kind old woman tells you that their gym leader, Jemma, hasn’t been around in quite some time, and the gym is closed. (If you were paying attention when battling Fitz, you’ll remember he mentioned Jemma)

\- Undeterred (because when is the main character of this game ever deterred?) you speak to the local townspeople and find out that the last place she was seen was on top of a nearby mountain. 

\- You embark on your journey up the mountain, and run into the in-game “Team Rocket” (in this case Team Hydra) who are after something at the top of the mountain. They don’t want you to get in their way so, naturally, they all try to battle you

\- As you defeat them one by one, with their Octilleries, Zubats and Raticates, you get the story of what they are after, piece by piece. Apparently there is a rare rock on top of the mountain which, combined with it’s other half, will open a door to another world, a world with the legendary Pokemon they plan to capture for their plans of world domination. 

\- You reach the top of the mountain only to come to face to face with—– Fitz? You find that Fitz has fought his way up the mountain, lugging something (covered by a blanket) in a wagon all the way up with him. He’s a bit banged up but of course he is more concerned about the Pokemon and offers to heal both parties. (Doop doop do do DO!)

\- Pokemon healed, you enter the mountain’s summit together where you find the Team Hydra leaders already at the rock. They are discussing exactly what you have already gotten out of the grunts (in case you missed it). 

\- Fitz demands that they hand over the stone and when they refuse (laughing at the poor guy), Fitz boldly challenges them to a battle. 

\- Because he’s hopelessly outnumbered and you came all this way anyway, you offer your help and together you take on the Team Hydra leaders 

\- When you manage to defeat them, they leave, huffing about how you wont stop them next time, they have a new plan, yada yada yada. 

\- Fitz rushes toward the rock

\- He uncovers the object in his wagon and, of course, it’s the rock he was analyzing back at the research center. When he pushes that rock together with the new one, the mountain rumbles beneath you and a portal opens 

\- Fitz dives through the portal (shouting “I’m coming Jemma!”). 

\- Your character is alarmed (exclamation mark!) but he soon returns with a woman, just as it closes back up behind him and the two halves of the rock shatter. 

\- They have a heartfelt reunion with a “Oh Fitz you found me!” exclamation from the woman and an “I’ll always find you Jemma” from Fitz.

\- At this point, your nosy little interest has been snagged and your character inquires if this is the same Jemma who is the gym leader of the nearby town. When she says she is, your character of course challenges her. 

\- Fitz isn’t really that impressed by this (his avatar hops around you angrily after having an exclamation mark appear above its head) and he keeps insisting that you need to let her rest. 

\- However Jemma says that it’s completely fine and, after finding out that you helped Fitz, says she would be delighted to take on your challenge. She tells you to meet her at her gym

\- Fitz, still upset about you challenging her so soon, uses an escape rope for both Jemma and himself, but leaves you on the top of the mountain to get back down on your own. (Fortunately there is no one left to battle). 

 

## Jemma’s Gym

\- Jemma’s gym has quite a few trainers you need to battle before you get to her. Everyone seems to have shown up to make sure she has a bit of time to rest. They keep insisting that you need to prove you can defeat them before you will have a chance against her. The primary types used are grass and poison, but there are a few small bird Pokemon (Spearow and Pidgey).

\- The gym is made up of several small gardens and in order to advance to the next garden you need to answer a skill testing question.

\- When you, at long last, reach Jemma, Fitz is there too. He’s still worrying over her and offers to have you battle him first. (He gets very annoyed when you remind him that you’ve already defeated him).

\- Jemma, of course, vetos this idea and battles you herself. Her character is still in the torn clothes she wore in the other world. 

\- She has a Muk, a Victreebel, a Toxicroak, a Crobat and, strangely, a Fearow. (Later in the game we find out that she got the Crobat as a gift from Fitz back when it was a Zubat). In battle, she calls it her best Pokemon 

\- When you defeat her, she gives you the badge, a TM, and thanks you for helping them again.  

\- If you go back to Fitz’s gym on Mon, Wednesday, or Friday, you find both of them there and you can challenge them to a double battle. If you go back to Jemma’s gym on any other day of the week you will also find both of them there, but they will tell you they are busy and Fitz’s avatar will kick you out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of the series, but if you don't like the format don't worry... every chapter has a different format so far and I might continue on having them slightly different. 
> 
> The story is based on the Game Freak games, Red, Blue, Gold, Silver, Ruby and Sapphire (which are the ones I'm most familiar with). Certain functions/ game characteristics may mix generations. I actually don't remember which generation lets you rechallenge gym leaders, but I really liked that feature. 
> 
> I am a dork


	2. The Serpent and the Sea (Fairy Tale)

 Once upon a time, there lived two children blessed with the gifts of intelligence and creativity. One child, a girl, came from the Southern countryside and the other child, a boy, came from the small villages of the North.

The girl’s parents knew that she was special and tried to nurture her gifts, but as she grew older they realized she needed more than they could give. Just as she was blossoming into a young woman, they sent her to study in the city.

The boy’s mother knew how special he was and wanted only what was best for him. She encouraged his inventions, which marvelled the whole village, but eventually she knew that their tiny world was not enough for him to reach his full potential. And so, just as he was blossoming into a young man, she sent him to study in the city.

The girl and the boy loved their schooling in the city. They learned fast and quickly surpassed their peers, discovering things they’d only ever dreamed of. However, they were lonely and at night the girl starred South and the boy gazed into the North and they wished for something of the love they’d felt there to find them in this new place.

Something must have heard their pleas because before long they met each other and, after a brief rivalry, become inseparable friends. Over the years, they combined their minds and created things beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. As their minds melded together, so did their hearts, and after ten years had passed they had formed a love that burned as bright as the evening star.

The Serpent King hated this light. He ruled the Western Kingdom and he had eyes that could see the darkness and the light in people’s hearts. He had always hated the glow of his neighbouring kingdom, but the light that shone from the young man and the young woman was blinding.

Furious, he concocted a scheme to snuff it out, stealing the pair away in the middle of the night and throwing them into the Starless Sea. The water was filled with monsters that hungered for the goodness in their souls, but the pair was clever and their bond was true and through their wit and their trust in each other they made it back to the shore.

However neither made it back unscathed. The man had lost a piece of his spirit, the piece that let him communicate with the world around him. Weakened and vulnerable, he fell into a deep sleep which the woman could not wake him from. Terrified, she took him to a kind witch in the East who helped nurse him back to health. She told them that his soul had not been touched, but his spirit needed time to recover. She told them that, though it would never be what it once was, and it would be a long journey back, he would be alright because the monsters had not touched the goodness in his heart.

The man suffered though. He grew frustrated and angry and sad with how he was. And as she watched him hurt a fury grew in the woman because, although his heart had been left alone, hers had been tainted with a drop of poison.

Her fury grew and grew until one day she made the decision to seek revenge and kill the Serpent King. She left the man with the witch in the middle of the night, leaving a note with a promise that she’d come back and that someday he’d understand.

The journey to kill the Serpent King took her far away from people and kindness and let the poison in her heart spread and thicken. She was away for only three short months but to the pair of them it felt like years because they had never been apart for so long, not since the day they met.

While she was gone, the man learned to live with his spirit the way it was. He wove it into a new shape and, as he did, and as he lived with the witch helping people in need, he grew kinder even than he’d already been.

When, one day, word reached him of the woman’s quest, when the rumor came to their small town that she intended to kill the Serpent King- and that the Serpent King new this, he knew that he had to find her.

So he travelled to the West on a cloud that the witch had made for him and found the woman at the castle gate. He only barely recognized the person before him, so completely had the darkness consumed her and when he tried to reason with her, she refused to listen.

The man was stubborn though, and he stood in front of her, unwilling to move from her path. She asked him how he could protect the Serpent King who’d hurt them so much and he answered that, no, he was protecting her.

As they argued, the poison inside of her grew impatient and it urged her to make him move, to hurt him. And it was this that made her stop.  At this, she realized that something terrible had grown inside of her and she was afraid of what she’d become.

The man wasn’t afraid though and he took her hand and, with his fingers tangled with hers and her love for him still as valiant as ever, she grew strong. The strength of their love for each other banished the poison from her heart and when it was gone the only thing she wanted to do was return to their life together, wherever it took them. They left the castle on the cloud, marvelling together at the sky filled with stars all the way back home.

The Serpent King was eventually consumed by his own darkness and his kingdom was taken over by a queen who was stronger and wiser than her predecessor.

A year later the man and the woman were married and a year after that they made their biggest discovery yet, one that changed the world for the better for generations and generations to come. If you asked them though, what their greatest discovery was, they would tell you that it was each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one doesn't need much explaining I don't think haha. I was trying to go for the fairy tale style of the books I had as a kid. With such classics as The Twelve Dancing Princesses, The Princess and the Frog and Jack and the Beanstalk


	3. And Then There Were... (Horror)

It’s been two days since their plane crashed and Fitz and Jemma are certain they are about to die. It’s not the forest that’s going to kill them though, not the cold nights or the lack of food and water. With the supplies they salvaged from the plane, they might have survived that long enough to be rescued.

There’s something in the woods with them. Twelve people survived the crash. Two days ago there’d been twelve of them including Fitz, herself and her brother. Now she thought she and Fitz might be the last two.

Only an hour after the tragedy, the first of them had disappeared. They’d found him, his head smashed in, only half a kilometer from their camp site. Some of the group thought it had been accident, that he’d fallen climbing a tree. Jemma, who examined the deceased on a regular basis at her job, knew better. The wounds weren’t from a fall.

A couple of hours later, another had gone missing.

Fitz had been the first to see their attacker. He’d thought it was a man, a madman with a hammer, but they knew now that it wasn’t a man. It was too strong, too fast. It could vanish before your eyes and fight you, unseen.

It had been her brother’s idea to cover it in mud. “If we can see him, we can fight him,” he’d said. However, that plan had backfired and now… she doesn’t want to think of what might have happened to him.

She and Fitz are cornered, flames on one side, the plane on another and the monster stalking towards them. She takes his hand, trying not to tremble and she’s about to tell him she loves him.

However, the words are startled away when he whispers “break up with me.”

It would have hurt, but from the way he’s looking at her when she turns to face him there’s no denying that he’s still head over heels for her and she thinks that maybe she didn’t understand him.

“If you break up with me, we might live.”

What?

“If we aren’t together anymore, we might live,” he says forcefully. “That’s how horror movies work.”

Her indignation is enough for her to lose track of where they are. “Oh _Fitz!_ Now really isn’t the time for- _”_

“I can’t watch you die Jemma,” he whispers. The monster is sizing them up, they are running out of time. “Please.”

She doesn’t want die with him any less than what he is to her, but a title won’t change that and if it gives him even a moment of peace she’ll take it.

“OK,” she agrees and she feels tears burn behind her eyes. “OK Fitz, I’ll break up with you.”

The monster charges them, wielding the hammer above its head and she’s about to throw herself in front of Fitz when something loops around her chest and, before she can comprehend what’s happening, she’s being yanked upward and away from the danger… away from Fitz.

She hears him scream and she starts to struggle but her brother’s gotten a grip on her arm and he’s pulling her up onto the top of the plane. He’s stronger than she remembers but she manages to struggle free, blood rushing in her ears when Fitz screams again.

“We can’t do anything for him,” he says softly but she’s not having that.

She can’t leave Fitz. She _won’t._

She finds a branch that fell onto the plane during the crash, pointed and thick and about half her height. “Like hell we can’t,” she growls. She tightens the rope around herself, fixing her brother with a hard stare. “Don’t you dare pull me up until I have him.”

He wants to argue, she knows that. She knows that she’s his little sister and as much as he likes Fitz he’d put her life over his in a heartbeat. But she also knows that he understands her, and what Fitz means to her and the silent warning she’s sending him now. So she trusts him so, gripping the weapon as tightly as she can, she jumps down into the smoke.

Serendipitously, she lands squarely on the monster, knocking it down and ramming the stick into its chest. She knows it won’t kill it but it buys her enough time to get to Fitz, unconscious now, hook her arms under his armpits and give the rope a firm tug. They are being hauled up before the monster can get to its feet and the pair of them are on top of the plane before it crashes into it.

They aren’t safe yet though. Faster than she thought they were capable, she and her brother manage to pass Fitz onto the wing on the opposite side and hop down beside him. With a blur of speed that can only come from desperation, they are able to lower him onto the ground and, together, carry him as they half jog away from the high flames.

When the explosion happens, they are close enough to feel the heat, and the shock wave knocks them off their feet. They’re alive though, all of them. She makes sure of that, feeling Fitz for a pulse.

His eyes crack open at her prodding and she’s worried she’s hurting him by the way she’s holding him, but he smiles at her and the weight lifts from her heart.

“I told you it would work,” he mumbles.

“Fitz that was a fluke,” she scolds. She runs her fingers gently along the side of his face. “And anyway, I didn’t mean a word of it.”

“The monster didn’t know that,” he muses. She’s still supporting him but his voice is getting stronger. “Is- is it gone?”

“I think so.” It’s her brother who answers, still keeping a lookout. “I’m not sure _what_ could survive that.”

They weren’t sure what the thing hunting them was either.

After an uneasy silence, she notices Fitz is staring at her.

“You came back for me.” She isn’t sure if he’s upset with her or thanking her.

_Of course I did._

“Well, that’s how horror movies work,” she teases softly, stroking his cheek again. “The madwoman fighting for the man she loves always wins.”

She doesn’t think that’s right, but he laughs, stopping after a painful grimace and she squeaks out a string of apologies as she bends down to kiss his hair.

A helicopter finds them in a little over an hour, alerted by the flames and the explosion. She doesn’t leave his side the whole way back.

No one believes it was a monster. It’s decided that it was just a man in the woods, just a strong, angry man living in the woods, but the three of them know better.

And that night, as Jemma sleeps in a chair curled up next to Fitz’s hospital bed, and her brother wraps a blanket around her before leaving to see his family, back in the forest the plane has stopped burning. A hammer lays in the ashes and, slowly, a charred hand creeps towards it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is based on the title of the book And Then There Were None (which I haven't actually read yet) and the story is inspired a bit by Harper's Island, Scream and all those fun horror movies I enjoyed as a teenager :P 
> 
> Also I'm making the distinction between Horror, as in the film genre, and ghost stories, which I am considering doing later


	4. Death (Part 1 of Vampire AU)

SHIELD finds the Monolith buried beneath a castle in England. They only know that it’s ancient and that Hydra wants it, and that’s enough for them to bring in their lead scientist.

It takes him six months, but Fitz eventually figures out how to open it. He doesn’t know what’s inside it, what it’s for, but he has a word, one word that sits at the end of every trail he follows. It’s written in Spanish, in Portuguese, in ancient Chinese and in ancient Greek. Most recently, he’s seen it written in Hebrew.

Death.

 Of course he’d be the one stuck with the wretched thing. If it were up to him he’d burry it back under the castle, let the stones and the earth keep whatever evil that’s locked inside of it contained.

It’s not up to him though, so he opens it. It’s not hard really, all he needed was vibrations tuned to just the right frequency. Six months of searching and all he needed to do was give it a bit of a shake.

There are armed agents of course, the room is teaming with them. There’s a blast shield between them and the monolith and everyone is wearing hazmat suits. It’s a whole event and Fitz thinks it’s going to be really embarrassing for everyone if nothing happens.

It will though, _something_ is coming out of that hunk of rock. He’s done the maths and his calculations are never wrong. He knows he has the right frequency.

When he switches on the vibrations the Monolith melts before their eyes, solid stone liquefying as if someone has turned up the heat by a couple thousand degrees. There’s one part of it that doesn’t melt though, something in the middle that definitely isn’t rock and, though he can’t explain why, he’s drawn to it. It’s as if it’s singing, though it makes no sound, and he needs to get closer, have it louder, have the melody fill him up.

His feet are moving before he realizes it and he barely hears the shout from behind him, doesn’t notice the hands missing the back of his shirt as he breaks into a run.

The thing is large, about half his height and round like an egg, and he manages to get both arms around it before one of the agents is pulling him back and the Monolith is closing back up, solid stone once more.

It doesn’t matter though, he has the egg, or whatever it is, and that’s all he can seem to care about.

He’s almost kicked off the base. When the only explanation he can come up with for his actions is curiosity, the Director nearly fires him on the spot. He was reckless, he put others at risk, he could have been killed.

They need him though and the Director has always had a soft spot for him, for his loyalty as much as his inteligence and so he’s allowed to stay after a long loud lecture and a stern warning to never do it again.

The egg is all he can think about though. He puzzles over it for days. He barely sleeps and it’s only a steady supply of pizza and takeout from his sympathetic lab mates that keeps him fed. No one’s ever really understood him so it’s easy for them understand when he isn’t making any sense. He’s strange and he’s always caught up in his work, nothing that’s happening is very new to them.

Fitz knows better, knows this is more than his regular passion, but he lets them believe what they want so they’ll leave him alone.

He finds out very little about the egg. It’s organic but it’s shell is as impenetrable as the Monolith had been and he can’t manage to get any samples from the inside of it. He breaks a good deal of equipment trying to. There’s nothing in the texts about an egg, nothing about what might be inside of the Monolith except for death.

If it weren’t for his conviction of the egg’s importance, he’d have thought this whole endeavor had been a waste of time.

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to open it. One night, as he’s finishing his last slice of cold pizza, it cracks down the middle.

It’s singing again, drawing him close and he knows that something has happened before he hears the shell breaking apart, before he turns to see it crumbling.

As the dust falls away, a figure is revealed. It’s a woman, naked and pale, almost grey. She’s sleeping or unconscious, only the rise and fall of her shoulders to tell him she’s alive, and she’s in a terrible state. Her hair is matted and her lips are cracked, dark circles ring her eyes, but she’s beautiful. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Once again he comes under a trance. He’s never laid eyes on this woman but he knows that he needs to keep her safe, would do anything to keep her safe. So he wraps her in a fire blanket and lifts her onto a trolley. He erases the security feed and loads her, still sleeping, into the back of a SHIELD van.

SHIELD would want to understand her, they’d hurt her. They’d keep her locked up until they knew what she was or they’d kill her before they had a chance to. He couldn’t let that happen to her.

He leaves the Director a message. He tells him that the egg broke and now he doesn’t know what to do so he’s taking a break. The Director has been hinting that he needs a vacation for years now so he shouldn’t complain.

SHIELD owns a cottage north of the base, secluded and safe and, since he’s the one who installed the security, he knows how to make it private too.

The woman doesn’t stir the whole way there and though he’s glad she doesn’t wake up in the car, he’s worried about her. Briefly, he considers taking her to a hospital but he still doesn’t know what she is yet or if exposing her to the rest of the world is more dangerous than letting her sleep.

It’s the middle of the night when he reaches the cottage and it’s so dark he can barely see a hand in front of his face so he leaves the headlights of the van on as he carries her inside.

She doesn’t stir as he lifts her into the cottage, not when he sets her down on the bed in the larger room. It isn’t until he’s seriously considering calling an ambulance, his fingers feeling the freezing flesh of her neck for a pulse, that she opens her eyes.

He only just has time to notice the terrifying black orbs before she’s sprung and her teeth are tearing into his neck. Her arms wrap around him and he crashes onto the bed beside her, shrieking in terror. She’s so strong, holding him so tightly he can’t pull free. After a moment though, he stops wanting to. He stops being afraid, stops hurting. She doesn’t speak but it’s as if she’s telling him that he doesn’t have to worry, that it’ll all be OK and, beyond reason, he believes her.

/-/-/

It’s still dark when he awakens but there’s an orange glow on his right side as if someone’s turned on a lamp. He cracks one eye open, jolted when he finds a woman’s face only inches from his own.

She’s staring at him, warm brown eyes filled with concern as she rests her chin on her hands, her elbows digging into the mattress. She’s wearing one of his jumpers and he can only imagine a pair of his pants too. He hopes she hasn’t stolen any of his underwear.

“You must be hungry,” she comments. He likes her voice even though he’s a little frightened of her. He notices the curtains behind her have been drawn shut, strangling the morning sunlight.

He blinks a few time, giving himself a chance to look her over and he notices she looks better. _Better because she drained you like a juice box,’_ he reminds himself somberly. He finds though that he’s glad that she’s OK.

“Do you need to sleep more?” she asks. “Or should I find you something to eat?”

 _‘I thought_ I _was something to eat,’_ he thinks dryly. _‘What’s she up to? Fattening me up so I’ll taste better? So she can snack on me longer?’_

“You’re angry with me,” she guesses. Her gaze drops, shoulder’s sagging.

 _‘Try bloody terrified,’_ he thinks. _‘She must be some kind of… of vampire and she’s got me under a spell.’_

“I really didn’t mean to take so much,” she rushes on. “I was just so hungry… it’s been ages since….” She trails off, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Anyway, you really should eat. Or at least have some water.”

His tongue travels around his mouth, finding it dry and gritty. “Water,” he agrees with a croak.

As she scampers off to oblige, he manages to push himself up into a sitting position. He carefully prods the side of his neck, surprised to find the wound has already closed itself up, leaving a pair of crusty scabs where her fangs had been.

She brings him back one of the bottles from the counter and sits at the edge of the bed. He glugs it down, feeling her eyes on him as he does.

Once he’s finished he sets it down on the bedside table, trying to glare at her. It’s hard, however, for him to be at all menacing because whatever spell she put on him has still got a hold of him and he finds he can’t be angry with her. He doesn’t _want_ to be angry with her.

“What did you do to me?” he asks.

Once again, her eyes drop. “I drank your blood,” she mumbles.

“No not that,” he snaps. “Well… yes we should get back to that later actually but… first of all…” He rubs the bridge of his nose, wondering where to begin. “Why don’t I care?”

“The Monolith chose you,” she tells him quietly. He thinks she looks ashamed.

None of what she’s saying really makes any sense. “Er… chose me for what…?” He’s pretty sure he knows the answer but he wants to hear it from her.

She’s silent, biting her lip.

“To be your dinner?” he guesses bitterly, hating that he feels bad when she winces. “Is that what this is? You hypnotize me into letting you gnaw on my neck? Keep me complacent until I’m nothing but a dried out husk?”

“No!” she wails. “I didn’t… mean to… I was hungry.”

 _Hungry for Fitz soup._ “That isn’t exactly comforting,” he grumbles.

“I’m not going to drink _all_ your blood,” she tells him firmly, frowning unhappily at his raised eyebrows. “I usually don’t drink that much… but it’s been so long. Ever since…” Her moth clamps shut, her eyes moistening.  “I’m sorry,” she squeaks. Her hands fly to her face, hiding her from him. “You should kill me if you know what’s good for you. Force me out into the sunlight while it’s still light out.”

That hadn’t gone where he’d expected it to.

 “I’m not going to kill you!” he exclaims. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“You don’t understand,” she shouts back. “ _I’m_ the monster. If you knew what was good for you-“

“There must be some other way-“

“I don’t know how to stop myself-“

“I’m not doing it!” He’s startled by his own conviction. He can’t kill her. He wont.

Her eyes narrow. “It’s the Monolith that’s made you think that. Usually it sends the humans to me but…” Her lip wobbles. “Maybe here you’ll have a chance… maybe you can save yourself….”

“Or I can save both of us,” he reasons. If he leaves her and she really can’t help herself, she’ll probably end up hurting some innocent camper. Since becoming a murderer is out of the question, his only other option is to stay with her. “What if you could eat something else? Like an animal?”

“Like a deer?” she asks. She shakes her head. “No… no they make me sick. I tried… back when I was on Earth… before the Kree made the Monolith and sent me to the desert planet.”

“You come from Earth?” She looked so human it shouldn’t have surprised him. Then again, Thor looked human too and he wasn’t an Earthling. So the Kree had done other experiments besides the Inhumans…. He feels a burst of anger, on her behalf, that they’d decided to use the human race as their lab rats.

“I was born here a thousand years ago, as a human-“

“A thousand years ago?” He shakes his head. “But… you can’t be a _thousand years old!”_

“I slept for most of it,” she tells him. “I wake up every two hundred years, the stone teaches me the language skills I need, I feed and then I go back to sleep until the Monolith finds another. Two hundred years is the longest I can stay dormant, then my body needs… Well then I need to eat.”

“So there’s been five?” he guesses. Five people. And he can tell from her expression that she’s killed all of them. “How long-“

“Do I feed?” she asks, knowing his question before he’s asked. “The first time it was only a few days, I didn’t know what was happening, I couldn’t control it and she let me…” She looks like she wants to cry but she swallows hard and continues. “They always let me, they’re always so kind, and at first I thought maybe if I could restrain myself… take only a little…”

“You could both live,” he finishes and she nods numbly.

“It doesn’t work that way though. I thought I could do it with the last one… with Will.” Her cheeks are wet with tears. “It worked for six months. I took a little each day. I was tired, he was tired, but we were both alive. And then I cut my leg and I needed to heal. He was trying to help me… I told him to run but…” She presses her palms to her eyes. “Oh God…”

Fitz’s heart breaks as she starts to cry, he doesn’t like that she’s in pain and he can already understand why Will went back for her. If the Monolith did the same thing to him, he wouldn’t have had a choice.

“Hey. Hey no it’s OK.” He keeps his voice low, trying to sound soothing as he tentatively wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“I a-ate him,” she sobs.

“Well… yeah that’s actually pretty messed up,” he admits, and her sobs deepen into wails of misery. “But we can fix it!” he adds quickly. He gives her a one armed squeeze, rubbing her shoulder until she calms down a bit.

“How?” she croaks at last.

“I’m a scientist,” he tells her. “And us humans have come a really long way in a thousand years. Maybe we can undo what the Kree did to you.” He points between them at the word _humans_ wanting to be sure she knows he’s including her in with the rest of them.

“Humans undoing what the Kree did?” She doesn’t sound like she believes it’s possible.

He nods, giving her another squeeze. “You’ll see. There’s no need to go walking out into the sunlight and turning to ash, we can get you back to a diet of plants and animals again.”

“I wouldn’t turn to ash,” she corrects automatically. “My skin would burn off.”

 _Not squeamish this one._ The mental image is enough to make him shudder.

She mistakes it for a shiver, sighing as she leans into his shoulder and it makes butterflies dance in his stomach. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

 _Stupid vampire love curse._ He doesn’t want to feel like this about her, he barely knew her, but he doesn’t want her to die either and he’s pretty sure that part is him and not the Monolith.

“You should eat,” she urges after a minute. “I can try and catch you something. You said there were deer?”

Fitz laughs. “I’m sure the cottage has food. Thanks though… uh…?”

“Jemma,” she supplies, and he takes an instant liking to the name. He thinks it seems a bit like a music note, short and pretty. “What should I call you?”

“Fitz,” he answers.

She pulls back, giving him her first real smile and if the curse hadn’t already been locked in place, it certainly is now. It’s strange to him, that someone who can’t walk in the daylight looks like sunshine.

“Fitz,” she repeats, sounding as if she likes his name too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got a bit long, so it's part 1/2. The second part is almost done so it should be posted tomorrow or the day after.
> 
> Also writing this was a bit of a birthday present to myself haha, since I took the day off for my birthday.


	5. Death (Vampire AU part 2)

She’s fascinated by absolutely everything. Like a sponge, she soaks it all in, wants to see it all. She has him take apart the refrigerator, the television and the stove because she wants to know how they work and he thinks that she’s lucky he’s someone who knows how without breaking them. She is amazed at his phone, his computer, the bloody blender, and it almost would have been a bit annoying except for the whole curse thing making everything she did absolutely adorable. It’s as if they’ve formed a psychic link and whenever she’s happy, he is too.

He’s just scarfed down his breakfast of canned beans and freezer burned bread, when she begins pelting him with questions about his job, about the scientific breakthroughs they’d made in the past thousand years (he stuck with the abridged version). She’s smart too, and a quick learner. She remembers everything he says, sometimes quoting it back on him when he seems to contradict himself, and before long he’s found she has questions that reach above even what _he knows._

In all his years as a SHIELD scientist, he’s never met anyone as swift as her, and he wonders what she’d have been like if she’d been born into his century. She might even be smarter than he is.

They spend the next few weeks getting their bearings, he asks about her, she about him and the world she’s found herself back in. He tells the Director that he’s working on a new project, which isn’t entirely a lie, but he leaves out the part about Jemma. He’s still afraid that they’ll hurt her.

Days pass and they fall into a routine. They plan their research. He eats. She feeds on him.

It’s less terrifying after the first few times, after he realizes she has more self control than she led him to believe, and of course after the first minute or so he’s never scared. And he doesn’t pass out again.

At first she sleeps in her own room but he lets her into his bed the first night, after she wakes screaming from a nightmare, and she sleeps curled up against his side every night after that. She tells him it’s hard for her to sleep during the night now that there’s a sunrise. She tells him that she’s meant to sleep during the day, and he gives her whatever comfort he can so she can rest and he tells himself it’s because he wants her to be in control of herself when she feeds on him.

She’s so cold he has to sleep under three blankets to keep them both warm, but she tells him she doesn’t feel temperature changes. The blankets are for his comfort.

He buys her clothes so she doesn’t need to steal his, mostly his style because she seems to like it, but with a few more feminine pieces that she seems to like too. He gets better food too and she likes watching him cook even though she doesn’t eat it. She tries it out on the third night and she’s a natural, which she’s annoyingly smug about. There are few things she doesn’t excel at, except maybe modesty, and he finds that he admires her for it as much as it annoys him.

After supper he teaches her board games. Scrabble, Risk, and Monopoly which ends in an argument at Two O’clock in the morning over who owns King’s Cross Station. The game could have ended hours earlier except that neither of them are willing to lose.

She can walk outside in the moonlight, and some nights they walk down to the lake to see the moon rippling off the water. She tells him Earth is even more beautiful than she remembers and he’s reminded all over again of what the Kree took from her. He’s reminded all over again that she’s just like him, a person who didn’t ask for any of this to happen to her.

He feels a little guilty for thinking that at least it meant he got to meet her. Already it feels like he’s know her his whole life, even thought it’s only been a few weeks. They’ve been together for only fifteen days when Hydra finds them.

/-/-/

It’s dawn when the Hydra agents arrive, the curtains in Fitz and Jemma’s room shut tight to keep out the slanted rays of the sun. Jemma hears them first, worming her way out of the cocoon she’s made under the blanket to avoid the light.

She shakes his shoulder. “Fitz. Fitz wake up.”

He groans, rolling away from her. “You can wait until after six thirty for breakfast can’t you? I’m not FitzDonalds, we’re not open.”

She isn’t sure what FitzsDonalds is, but he’s mistaken about her being hungry.

“Fitz someone’s here,” she whispers.

“What?” That has him bolting upright. “You’re sure it isn’t a squirrel?”

Footsteps outside. The sound of a door slamming.

He swears, scrambling out of bed. “You need to hide!” She retreats back into her cocoon but he lifts the blanket off of her. “No, not there!”

“They couldn’t have seen me,” she protests. What did he have against her hiding place? It was convenient, and dark and she was already in it.

Something slams into the front door, too loud to be a knock. It slams into it again and she hears the hinges break. Footsteps crash like a stampede.

Suddenly the room is swarming with armed men. She knows about guns. Will had one, Fitz has told her about them, and she knows how dangerous they are. All of them are pointed at Fitz, _her Fitz,_ and anger bubbles in her chest.

“Don’t you dare,” she snarls.

They must have a caught a glimpse of her teeth because she can smell that they’re afraid.

“It’s her,” One man says. “Kill him and take her-“

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence though because she’s leapt around Fitz, finding the man’s throat to sink her teeth into. She’s never killed on purpose before but she knows how, it’s instinctual, and when the others start shooting at her, bullets exploding through her skin in bursts of agony, she kills them too.

They move so slowly, like slugs, and they don’t have time to stop her. A few have time to scream but she barely hears it for all the pain.

She’s so hungry and she knows if she eats it’ll stop hurting so she sinks her teeth further into the last man’s neck, drinking deeply. She eats and she eats until she feels the bullets pushed out of her body by her healing flesh. She eats until he really is nothing more than a dried out husk.

It’s only when her wounds are beginning to close up and the pain is starting to fade that she hears another creature breathing in the room and she spins around excitedly, yearning for a live meal.

“Jemma stop!” Her teeth are almost on his neck when she recognizes the terrified shriek and, with much effort, she pulls back.

Fitz is staring at her, his back pressed up against the side of the bed in his vein attempt to get away from her, eyes wide with fear.

Her body is fighting with her heart. It wants his blood, a lot of it, more than she knows he can give and it’s taking every ounce of will power she has not to hurt him. She wants to tell him to run but they both know it wouldn’t matter and if he bolted she’d probably chase him. So he sits still, as if he’s been glazed over with ice.

She can hear his heart beating, trace the path of the blood roaring through him, but she forces herself to look into his eyes, to see how much she’s scaring him, how much of a monster she’s become.

She loves him, she’s loved all of them, the stone makes sure of that, but he’s different. He’s special. She thinks she’d probably love Fitz without the Monolith, if she’d met him as a human. Even now, when he should be nothing but a meal to her, she still feels connected to him.

“You’re more than this Jemma,” he whispers and she realizes that she’s started trembling under the strain. “You don’t have to do this.”

He’s right. Her body thinks she needs to eat him but she doesn’t. There’s plenty of food, not fresh food but food that can sustain her and with one last gargantuan push of effort, she turns away from him.

Fitz doesn’t move as she feeds on the dead and she’s glad he knows better. He’s quiet and he stays put and she manages to push the thought of his fresh, warm, flowing blood out of her mind.

It’s only when she’s eaten her fill and eased herself down onto her side, exhaustion pulling her unconscious, that she hears him move. She thinks he’s going to run, thinks he should run, but he doesn’t. Instead he crawls over to her, scooping her up into his arms. The last thing she feels is his fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse.

/-/-/

It’s dark when she wakes up, but there’s a dim white light to her left, accompanied by a steady string of beeps. There’s something on her finger, like a clothespin but bigger and made of plastic. It makes her finger feel numb and heavy as she lifts it.

She hears light breathing and turns her head to find Fitz, watching her from the side of the bed. He smiles at her when she blinks at him and she smiles back, glad he’s OK.

“Are you hungry?” he asks gently.

He offers his arm but she shakes her head. She could eat, but she doesn’t have to, and after what just happened she can’t stand the idea of biting him. How can he? How can he even look at her after what she’s done?

Fitz sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I have to apologize. I should have been more careful making sure Hydra couldn’t find us… if it weren’t for you...”

“If it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have been looking in the first place,” she tells him bitterly. Her eyes wander around the room, finding the now-familiar eagle symbol on the sliding glass door. “We’re at SHIELD.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” he promises fiercely. “I won’t let them.”

“Maybe you should,” she mumbles. She can still remember the look on his face when she rounded on him, can still remember how close she’d been to draining him as dry as the dead Hydra agent. “I’m dangerous.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” he points out.

Her eyes close. “I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t,” he presses. “You stopped yourself.”

“I had other options,” she argues.

He shakes his head. “Yeah but Jemma, _you stopped yourself._ Monsters don’t do that.”

She remembers what he said to her that morning, that she’s more than this. Suddenly she’s angry, at herself, at him, at the Kree.

“It’s only the Monolith that’s making you say that,” she mutters. “If it hadn’t chosen you, you’d see me for what I am and you’d be better off.”

“What you are?” He laughs, making her scowl at him. “I’ve seen what you are Jemma. You’re brilliant and kind and even more stubborn than I am.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” she says under her breath.

“OK then, we’re both stubborn,” he relents, purposely misreading what she’s said. “But I’ve never met anyone as easy to talk to as you are. No one’s ever understood me the way you do and I think…. I think you’re my best friend, Jemma.”  

She isn’t sure how to reply to that. He’s her best friend too and everything he’s saying mirrors the way she feels about him so perfectly it’s as if he can read her mind. She loves him, and not because she has to, like it was back on the desert planet, but because she wants to. It’s because of all the people on Earth, it’s him that she wants to keep by her side.

“Will you still help me become human again?” she asks.

He takes her hand, rubbing it between his own and maybe she’s imagining it but she thinks she feels a little warmth flow into her fingers.

“Of course I will.”

/-/-/

She likes the lab where he works. It’s neat and busy at the same time and there’s so many new things for her to learn about.

SHIELD lets her stay. They’re angry that Fitz took her, but they let him stay too. She meets a woman named Daisy, another product of the Kree’s experimentation, who can make earthquakes and cast out vibrations whenever she wishes. Jemma likes Daisy and the two become fast friends, but it perplexes her how comfortable she is with what the Kree did to her. She _likes_ her abilities. Then again, nothing she does requires draining the blood from a live person and if Jemma could have super strength and speed without having to take Fitz’s blood every day she might not mind it either.

And it’s Fitz’s blood that she needs. The other’s can cushion her appetite, but she’s been bonded with Fitz and it’s his blood she needs to keep consuming and before long it’s the way things were with Will. He’s exhausted, she’s exhausted, but they’re both alive and Fitz has given her hope that, at SHIELD, they can stay that way long enough to fix it.

They hire a man named Daniel Radcliffe to help them and Jemma finds herself shadowing him as he works. Everything in the lab enchants her, but it’s biochemistry that catches her interest like a hook and she dives into text after text, practices the experimental technique late at night when the lab is empty. One night, not thinking about what she’s doing, she corrects one of Radcliffe’s experiments. The next morning he’s furious with her until he realizes that she was right.

So he offers to take her on as his student, and she eagerly agrees.

The other agents think it’s strange that she sleeps in Fitz’s room. Daisy asks if they’re sleeping together and she thinks it’s a ridiculous question until she finds out what she means by it. Apparently their arrangement isn’t ordinary, but as hard she tries, Jemma can’t remember what ordinary feels like. She knows that once she had a life, a very long time ago, but she doesn’t know who the person she used to be is anymore and besides, after 1000 years it probably wouldn’t have helped her to know anyway.

As time goes on, she does begin to wonder about the nature of their relationship though. He’s said he’s her best friend, but she isn’t quite certain that covers the entire scope of what she’s feeling for him. And she doesn’t know the exact nature of what he’s feeling _for her_ , or how much of it is because of the Monolith.

When they, at long last, run into something promising, they’ve been together for nearly a year. It’s been nearly a year of science and laughing and board games with Fitz and she doesn’t even know if any of it was real or if it was all made up by a rock.

She lays awake the night before they use it on her, wondering what will happen to her once she’s human again. Carefully, she squirms her way out from under the blanket, laying her head on Fitz pillow to watch him as he sleeps.

No one ever told her how the Monolith chooses the humans it brings her. She once thought it had simply been choosing the healthiest blood donors, but it found something special in Fitz. He's a match for her soul not her stomach.

Her eyes drift down to the bite marks on his neck. Still healing from her evening meal, and her conviction hardens. Even if becoming human means he wont love her anymore, he’ll be safe from her and she’ll get to live her life without endangering others. They can’t keep this up and he shouldn’t have to. Besides that, if what he feels for her is only because of the Monolith then it wouldn’t be fair to keep him that way. Fitz should be allowed to love people of his own accord, he deserves that.

When she’s injected with the cure, he holds her hand, smiling bravely so she wont be afraid and she isn’t.

After half a day, her canine teeth have begun to wear down and her senses feel like they’ve been dulled, as if she’s been put into a box of cotton. She tries a hamburger, and it doesn’t make her sick. Radcliffe shines a UV light onto her skin, and it doesn’t burn. The thought of drinking Fitz’s blood no longer appeals to her.

Not that she can find him to test it. Only a few hours after she’d been injected he’d disappeared and she hasn’t seen a trace of him since. Dread spreads through her. Has the connection been broken? Has he realized that what he felt for her was all just a lie? Was he angry with her? Shouldn’t he be?

She knows she can stay at SHIELD, the Director has already offered a position on their science team, but if Fitz really has changed the way he feels about her, then she might take up Radcliffe’s offer and go with him.  Seeing him every day and knowing that she can never again go back to what they had would be too much for her.

She’s truly beginning to panic when he finds her in the hallway.

He seems nervous, twisting his fingers as he looks her over. “You look the same,” he says.

“I don’t feel the same,” she tells him and he nods, as if that makes sense.

“Of course not. You’re human now, you’re bound to… feel… different…” He trails off uncomfortably and suddenly she can’t stand the awkward distance between them.

“Fitz, I need you to know that-“

“I have something to show you-“

Their mouths clamp shut when they realized they’re speaking at the same time.

“What were you-“ Fitz offers.

“You should go first,” she says quickly. Better to let him lead, to see where he wants to go with this.

“Can you come with me?” he asks softly.

She’s scared but she nods anyway. “OK.”

He leads her up a set of stairs, then another. Neither of them speak as they climb but she feels the burger sitting heavily in her stomach, and she’s starting to get a little tired when at last they reach the very top of the staircase, barred from moving forward by a thick metal door.

“You’re sure you’re human now?” Fitz asks, hesitating with his hand on the door handle.

“I’ve passed all the tests,” she tells him.

He gives her a smile that makes her heart flutter with hope. “OK.”

The door opens to the roof, the sky pink and gold from the setting sun, and there’s a blanket set out a few feet away with a picnic basket and a bottle of wine.

She feels his eyes on her as she steps out, into the sunlight for the first time. It’s warm even though she knows this is only a bit of it, but the air is cool. She remembers this, barely, but it’s familiar enough that she knows it’s what she’s supposed to be feeling and it's wonderful.

While she struggles for something to say, Fitz weaves around her, touching her shoulder before stepping towards the blanket to pick up the wine.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d ever tried any,” he says shyly. “You probably shouldn’t have too much… if your body isn’t used to it yet but…” He shrugs and she can see that he’s blushing, his ears a lovely shade of pink. “It’s one of the nicer things about being human.”

He’s been setting this up for her, she realizes. While she thought he’d been avoiding her he’d been preparing a surprise.

Her silence confuses him and he fidgets uncomfortably. “It’s bad taste isn’t it?” he asks awkwardly. “The wine looks like... I didn’t even realize the wine looked so much like-“

“The wine is fine,” she says quickly. “Everything is fine. It’s perfect.”

Their eyes meet and suddenly she’s crossing the distance between them, meeting him in the middle, and his lips are meeting hers. It’s her first kiss as a human and it’s one of the best feelings she’s ever had. Her senses burst to life and it’s almost as if she’s not human again, as if she can hear his heartbeat and smell his scent flooding around her.

“Thank you,” she breathes, pulling back just far enough to let their foreheads touch. “For finding me. For helping me.”

He chuckles. “What else was I going to do?”


	6. The Traitor (Harry Potter AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from recoveringrabbit on tumblr
> 
> Not originally Harry Potter, but it just happened. It takes place during that year Voldemort basically took over the world. I think the rest is self explanatory (hopefully)

 

Edna Sourcrow strode triumphantly into the office that morning, wielding the morning paper as if it were the Triwizard Cup itself.

With a loud _slap_ she brought it down onto her neighbour’s desk, grinning with glee even as the poor girl nearly jumped out of her skin. Jemma Simmons, clever as she was, couldn’t be counted on to keep aware of her surroundings once she’d submerged herself into her work. It was a wonder she still had all her fingers, dabbling in the art of potions making as she did.

“And a good riddance to them both,” Edna snorted as Ms. Simmons collected herself.

The girl blinked, confused. “What was that Mrs.-“ However she fell silent as her eyes caught the front page headline, her expression crumpling into something dark and unreadable.

Edna watched her shifting features carefully. A good number of the Ministry employees still doubted Ms. Simmons’ commitment to the cause, whispering dreadful things in the lunch room when they thought no one could hear. Some thought her loyalties were being pulled elsewhere and still other’s, with their heads tucked close together with the hope that the words would only reach between them, wondered if maybe she were a spy.

It was all nonsense. The others could talk all they wanted but both Edna and the Ministry knew better.

Jemma Simmons, pure blood witch, a descendant of Godric Gryffindore himself, and the greatest potion’s master of the age, was not consorting with mudbloods and squibs.

“Is any of this confirmed?” Ms. Simmons asked calmly, looking up without batting an eyelash.

Edna puffed out her chest importantly. “Alex Wormwood confirmed it himself. That mudblood troublemaker Daisy Johnson and her filthy squib partner Leopold Fitz were blown to smithereens. Not even a finger was left.”

“Well then,” Ms. Simmons said, returning her attention to her work. “That’ll be one less thing to worry about I suppose.”

Satisfied with her reaction, Edna gave a curt nod and followed suit. The others had their stories, fantasies spinning mostly, she thought, from Ms. Simmons history with the squib. It was true that they’d been colleagues for several years- though how on Earth a squib had worked side by side with a proper witch was beyond Edna’s imagination- and as was often the case people assumed that this had also made them friends. A delusional few even thought they may have been lovers at some point, but that couldn’t be true.

If that were true, Ms. Simmons would not be so poised after hearing of his death. If that were true she might have excused herself instead of moving on with her day so comfortably.

If she had loved him, and if she were friends with the mudblood as the rumors suggested, then she would surely show it, even if only in the trembling of her lip.

/-/-/

Three hours later, Jemma strode down the hallway in silence, struggling to keep her steps even, struggling not to break out into a run as she left the building.

Had anyone heard the catch in her breath? Seen the tears that welled like a storm behind her eyes? Had anyone caught the way her hand had trembled as she’d laid her quill down onto her desk?

She took a right at the first intersection, traveling automatically down the familiar route.

If they had noticed, she had risked everything. If anyone had seen through the crack in her armor, Fitz and Daisy had died for nothing.

Not died. They hadn’t died. They weren’t dead. Not until it had been confirmed. Not until she had more than the word of _Alex Wormwood._ She wouldn’t let herself believe she’d lost them until it came from someone she trusted.

Her feet didn’t betray her. They carried her steadily, as if on a cloud, to the nearby park, her skin indifferent to the sunlight, birdsong muted into far off noise.

It wasn’t strange for her to go to the park during her lunch break, she often took a walk in the fresh air. No one would think anything was off. No one would notice.

She sat on a bench, the third one from the fountain, facing East towards the statue of the lion, and traced her fingers beneath the seat, counting the notches in the wood.

One… two… three…

Her heart went cold as she felt the new notch, the pavement rocketing out from under her, so that she was left with only her grip on the bench to stop her from freefalling away.

Another notch. Another meeting. Midnight at the park by the river, between the bushes, beneath the tallest oak. They’d only met with her in person three times before, only met in person to pass on information too sensitive to pass through their usual means. Wouldn’t they tell her in person, if he had been killed? She was his next of kin with those they trusted, with those they didn’t need to hide themselves from. Surely that meant they would tell her in person. Surely this meant Fitz was-

She grit her teeth, banishing the thought from her mind. She still had four hours left at work, four hours to keep up her armor and if she let herself believe he was gone, she wasn’t sure if she could do it.

Her eyes closed, her heart taking her somewhere else, to another park where she could feel the sun and hear the birds singing above her.

_“I’ll come back for you Jemma, I promise. Just don’t let them catch you.”_

_His hands were warm and right, holding hers, like the blue sky had come down to touch her, and when he kissed fingers it was like being graced by the clouds._

_“I promise.”_

She pressed her hands to her own lips, trying to remember, trying to pretend that if she could keep holding onto his kiss then she could tether him to this world and she’d never have to worry about him leaving it.

Fitz was alive. Fitz was alive because he’d promised, and Daisy was too because he’d never let anything happen to her. They’d never let anything happen to each other. They’d kept each other safe.

They were _alive,_ both of them, and they needed her to be strong now. She had to play her part. People needed her to keep them safe, get them out, ensure this madness came to an end.

Her break was almost over, if she didn’t get back soon she would be noticed. People would wonder, and then they would talk. So, with a big breath, she packed her terror and her pain like knives beneath her steel armor, and stood up.

/-/-/

It was cool for a summer evening but Jemma was already too sheathed in ice to notice. That day had been one of the longest of her life and it was a wonder she hadn’t cracked halfway through it.

They were late, whoever it was. Her watch read five past midnight and still she was alone, hiding in the bushes in the dark like a criminal.

Which, she supposed, she was. Officially anyway, though from where she stood it was the people she needed to hide from who were the real criminals.

The bushes shook to her left, scaring her into the air even though she’d been expecting it. Her wand was out before she realized what she was doing.

“Jemma! Jemma, it’s just me.” That voice, she’d know that voice anywhere and she didn’t need the moonlight on his face to recognize who he was.

“Fitz!” Her arms clamped around him, fingers clawing at his shirt. Relief washed over her when he held her back, his embrace as fierce as her own and her empty shell refilled, the world coming back into full colour again.

“I thought I should come see you,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear, and she was glad he couldn’t see the tears that stuck to her eyelashes. “After… well I wanted to make sure you didn’t think me and Daisy were-“

“I didn’t,” she told him firmly, though her arms tightening around him gave away her lie. It had been _months_ since they’d held each other, she rationalized, of course she’d cling to him, keep him close. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She had expected him to laugh, to take the joke for what it was, but instead he lifted his arm to comb his fingers through her hair, pushing his cheek against hers. “No, I wouldn’t leave you,” he agreed solemnly. “Not like this, with both sides-“ he swallowed, trailing off uncomfortably.

“With both sides thinking they have reason to want me dead?” she finished in a whisper.

“I wish we could tell them,” he went on, his hushed words turning into a growl. “The things they say about you Jemma-“

“Are completely called for given what they’ve been led to believe,” she said adamantly. “The world thinks I helped the Ministry send children to Azkaban.”

“The world should know better,” he muttered.

She pulled back, wanting a better look at him, and took his face between her hands. His stubble was thicker than it normally was, his cheeks sunken in. “They don’t know me, Fitz,” she reminded him, gently caressing him with her thumbs. “It doesn’t matter what they think now, all that matters is that I’m allowed to do what I do.”

Fitz took her hands, pulling them to his mouth and she shut her eyes to better feel his lips on her skin. It wasn’t as if the half moon’s light was helping them much anyhow.

“Come with me,” he pleaded. “You aren’t safe with those people.”

“You and Daisy aren’t safe anywhere,” she objected, although the offer pulled at her like a hook. “And I can’t help you if I leave.”

“Of course you can,” he pressed.

“Not as much as I can if I stay.”

His breath hitched but he didn’t argue again. Instead he pushed their foreheads together, cradling the side of her head and, after a moment, she did the same. She breathed him in, wishing they had the time and the certainty of tomorrow they’d taken for granted only a year ago.

“How long can you stay?” she asked.

“I have to be back in a few hours,” he answered remorsefully.

That was something at least.

She took his hand and they sat down by the river bank, listening to the frogs and the crickets and the quiet flow of the water across the rocks.

“I have something for you,” she told him, reaching into her bag to pull out a pair of round, tin containers. “The green one is for Daisy.”

Fitz shook his, his smile visible even in the dark. “Are they made with flax seed?” he teased. He didn’t comment on her bringing gifts for people who might be dead, and she didn’t let herself think about that.

She smiled back. “No, this time it’s chocolate chip, just the way you like it.” By how thin he was, she didn’t think he’d good food in a long time and she was glad she’d decided to spoil him a bit.

How was he living, her poor Fitz? She’d felt a scar on his jaw where there’d never been one before, and she hadn’t missed the way he’d favoured his left leg when they’d sat down. He worried about her, but she’d have traded places with him an heartbeat to keep him safe. If only she could.

They both had their parts to play though, and there was nothing she could do about that.

“I have something for you too,” he said, already reaching into his pocket.

He held out his fist and she opened her hands, feeling a hard lump of metal fall into them, followed by the chain that waterfalled behind it. She knew right away by the shape of it what it was.

“This was your mother’s,” she whispered, her voice thick from a sudden well of emotion.

“No one can trace it back to me,” he told her quickly.

“Why are you giving this to me?” she asked weakly. After all he’d just said, surely this wasn’t what it felt like. Surely this wasn’t a goodbye present.

She didn’t know what he was asked to do or how he lived now, just as he didn’t know the details of what she was tasked with. If he were going to be sent somewhere dangerous, he wouldn’t be allowed to tell her, not directly.

“Because I’m going to come back for it,” he answered steadily. “And I need you to keep it safe until I do, OK? Hold onto it.”

For the second time that night, relief flooded through her. _He was coming back. Of course he was._

She nestled against his chest, eyes closing when his arms folded around her, and she told herself that soon this would their every day.

“I promise.”


	7. The Hidden (Harry Potter AU part 2)

It had been raining for two days. Heavy sheets fell from the sky, pelting the already soaked earth, splattering into the ever growing brown puddles that pocked the mud like craters.

Fitz was glad for the tent that hung over them, happy he was travelling with witches who could bewitch it into something more comfortable than the tiny, fragile things he’d seen muggles using. He was glad to be dry, glad to be warm, glad the thunder boomed so long after the lightening, telling them danger was far away. He was even glad for the terrible weather keeping the Death Eaters from sniffing around their camp.

He was hungry though. They hadn’t managed to find much to eat since the rain started, and their cookies were already a distant memory. Smuggling a group of muggle born children out of the country to their waiting parents meant that sweets disappeared more quickly than an appirating house elf.

They’d been good though, the few he’d had. They were crumbly and sweet and they reminded him of better days, of Jemma. And he could keep the note that had been taped to the bottom of the tin lid, even if they’d needed to give the tins away to a passing family. Another frightened herd of souls only trying to leave. He wondered why, if the Ministry wanted them gone so badly, they didn’t just let them.

Safely out of the rain, he pulled the folded note from his pocket, tracing his eyes over the achingly familiar handwriting and burning the words onto the back of his eyelids.

_Chocolate Chip with vanilla. Be safe. All my love._

She hadn’t signed her name. No one could ever know who the note was from. No one could ever suspect that she’d been helping them. Beyond Daisy and himself, no one knew. Not even the other two witches they traveled with or the scrappy band of children they were the current guardians of.

Speaking of which… Was that sniffling he heard?

Fitz sighed, folding the note back into his pocket and pushing himself out of his seat. The other adults were out looking for food, hunting for anything that dared to venture out into the rain. They’d left the squib behind to look after the children- never mind the fact that he’d made half of their traps himself and was the only one in the group who could distinguish the edible mushrooms from the inedible ones. In Helga and Aggie’s eyes, he was next to useless and Daisy, outnumbered two to one hadn’t been able to convince them on his behalf.

It didn’t matter. He’d rather be dry inside than out there and besides, he liked it better when the children where were he could see them. He’d grown attached to them in the past month and he didn’t like to imagine the things out there hunting them ever catching up.

He followed the sniffling out of the kitchen and into the room where they slept. Little Elena had her hands over her face, feet dangling off of her bed as Joey rubbed her shoulder consolingly and Mack, already tall at twelve, loomed over them protectively.

“Hey,” Fitz kept his voice gentle, stooping down so that he was closer to the sitting girl’s height. “What’s happening here?”

Elena peeked out from between her fingers, mumbling in Spanish and Fitz wished that someone knew a spell that would let him understand her. They’d been working on it, but since he and the other adults only spoke English, and she only spoke Spanish, they’d been relying on Joey for most of their communication.

She thrust out her wand, the broken tip dangling by a silver hair, and he didn’t need words to understand.

“We tried fixing it with our own wands,” Joey explained woefully. “But… I’ve never used magic and Mack is only a second year so…”

 “You can’t fix a wand with magic anyway,” Fitz told them consolingly and Elena gave a little squeak when Joey translated for her. “Oh no, it’s OK. It’s OK. I’m sure you’ll be able to get a new one.” He pointed to the wand, fumbling for words. “Uh… Nuevo…”

She shook her head, frustrated, and launched of into an explanation, staring at Joey for a translation.

“They already say she isn’t a real witch,” he explained. “She’d never even seen a wand before but… she had her own and it made her feel real…” The little boy frowned. “Elena…” But she'd already turned away from, arms crossed as if she were angry at him for making her admit so much.

Anger surged in Fitz’s chest, that someone so young could be touched by such senseless cruelty. 

He held out a hand for the wand and, hesitantly, she allowed him to take it. He held it carefully as he looked it over, mindful that even broken it was still precious. It was elm, ten inches if he was guessing correctly, and the core now leaking out the top was unmistakably the hair of a unicorn. It was beautifully made, not Ollivander’s work he could tell right away, but the work of someone with at least the same skill.

“I can’t fix it,” he said slowly, giving Joey time to translate. “But if you’ll let me use the unicorn hair, I think I can make a new one.”

Elena blinked at him. “… don’t… understand…” She squirmed uncomfortably.

“Uh… but Fitz…” Joey began awkwardly.

“Aren’t you a squib?” Mack asked. He wasn’t trying to be blunt or unkind. The three children simply seemed genuinely perplexed by the offer. And how could he blame them, really?

“And James Steward was a muggle,” Fitz told them with a shrug. “He still made wands for the first students at Ilvermorny. I’m no Ollivander but I’ve done it before.” He winked at Elena who gave him a small smile. “You can even choose the wood.”

A true smile lit her face once Joey had explained what he’d said, and she leapt to her feet, shouting happily before rocketing out of the tent, trailed by the other two children.

“Hey wait!” Fitz called. “Where are you-?”

“We’re going to find some wood!” Joey exclaimed over his shoulder. “She wants to find another elm!”

“But it’s raining!” Fitz protested, hurrying behind them. “Don’t go past the enchantments!”

They knew better, he knew they did. As excited as they were the Death Eaters we’re scary enough to keep them close to the tent. Still he kept a close watch on them, surprised when Mack was able to cast a spell that protected them from the rain. He was skilled for a second year and Fitz suspected he’d been practicing at night. He wasn’t sure if it were fear of how helpless the children were, or of falling behind that motivated him, but he’d heard him whispering spells well past when he should have been sleeping.

After a few minutes of searching, the rain stopped, leaving them in silence for the first time in days, and Fitz ventured out, weaving around the mud for some fresh air.

Footsteps sounded from the woods and Fitz’s stomach grumbled, hoping the others had finally found something they could eat. His heart jumped when he heard male voices.

In a flash he had crossed the field of mud, pushing Joey and Mack behind him and hissing at them to go back to the tent.

“But Elena-“ Mack began, watching his friend with wide eyes. She'd been examining a tree closer to the edge of the barrier and was now frighteningly close to where the voices were headed. 

“Mack now,” Fitz snapped. “Quietly. Don’t run. I’ll get her.”

Mack hesitated but Joey tugged on his sleeve. “We’re slowing Fitz down,” he whispered.

“I’ll get her,” Fitz repeated firmly and at last Mack turned to follow Joey.

Elena was standing stone still near the edge of the trees, alarmingly close to where Fitz knew the protection spell had been cast. Fitz couldn’t see her face but he was sure that her eyes were glued, as his were, to the three figures, now visible as the approached between the trees.

“Elena,” he whispered, relieved when his voice didn’t make her cry out. She jumped when he touched her arm. “Shh. They can’t see us but you need to be quiet. Come with me.”

He took her hand, leading her slowly away and she walked backwards as she followed him, her eyes never leaving the three men.

They were wizards, he could tell right away by the way they dressed, and he could tell by their thuggish appearance that they probably weren’t the friendly kind. The three of them seemed to be about to walk right past the barrier when the tallest one stopped, sniffing the air.

He was well muscled and hairy with a wild look in his eyes that set Fitz teeth on edge, his unnerve compounded by how he seemed to have caught onto their scent like a hungry dog.

The other two hadn’t noticed and they kept talking until he raised a hand for silence, shooting them a glare.

“I think,” he said slowly, a cruel smile twisting his mouth, “that a little girl may have gotten lost in the woods…”

Elena squeaked, too close, too loud, and the man’s attention snapped towards them, staring right at them through the barrier.

“ _Run!”_ Fitz hissed.

She bolted, zipping off like a scared rabbit and he’d never been more grateful for the child’s supernatural speed.

_Boom._

“We need to get out of here!” Fitz shouted, unconcerned with silence now that they were already under attack.

Mack and Joey were already peeking out of the tent but, with a jolt, Fitz realized that he had no idea what to do. Hopefully Daisy and the others had heard the commotion. Fitz couldn’t appirate, he barely knew how to defend himself against three adult wizards. He’d never needed to before. What was he supposed to do now?

 _You really are just a useless squib._ All the terrible thoughts that had haunted him over the years resurged, stronger than ever, and he knew he’d never forgive himself if he let anything happen to these kids.

_BOOM!_

Thudding footsteps told him that the Death Eaters had broken through, that they were running towards them.

He and the children collided at the entrance to the tent and he grit his chattering teeth, forcing himself to think, to find a way out.

“Fitz!” It was Daisy, trailed by Helga and Aggie, and he didn’t waste any time herding the children in front of him, pushing them in the direction of the three witches. “Go, _go!”_

Elena took the lead, Mack close behind her, but Joey was so small that he lagged behind, flying forward into a tumble when his foot caught on the edge of a bush. Fitz risked a look over his shoulder to see the harry man pelting towards them, even more freakishly agile than Elena. He’d left the others in his dust and he was closing in on  Joey before he could scramble to his feet. He was going to catch him.

In that moment, something inside of Fitz snapped. He had _not_ dragged this band of kids through the woods for the past month just so that they could end up kidnapped by this animal. Joey _was_ going to see Hogwarts and Mack _was_ going to catch up to his year and Elena _was_ going to get the best elm wand anyone could craft. They weren’t his kids, but God help anyone who tried to hurt them.

With a savage cry, he barreled into the harry man, wrestling with him on the ground until he felt teeth sink in next to his neck and he screamed, kicking at him as pain erupted through him. The man let go of him, about to lung forward but Fitz, still furious,  grabbed him around the neck, managing to surprise him enough to hold him down.

_No you don’t!_

Three loud _cracks_ sounded behind him and he could only hope that the others had managed to escape, that someone had managed to grab Joey before one of these brutes got him.

The harry man turned his attention back to Fitz, growling as he glared down at him and Fitz glared back defiantly. He knew who this was, this man who acted as if he were a beast, and he was afraid but he refused to show it.

“Who are you?” the man demanded but Fitz clamped his mouth shut, eyes like flames.

Staying silent gave them the least information to work with, bought the most time for the others, kept everyone the safest.

“He thinks he’s brave,” one of the other men jeered. “Don’t you know who you’re dealing with boy?”

The harry man, _Greyback,_ bore his teeth and Fitz flinched, the pain from the bite still burning. The three men laughed.

“I think he has the general idea,” Greyback said, and his voice sent a shiver down Fitz’s spine. “We’ll find out what we need to know. No one is ever as brave as they think they are.”

Fitz wasn’t brave. He was scared out of his mind, but he also couldn’t stop himself from thinking of Jemma. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he’d broken his promise, from hoping that she’d be OK, that someday she’d understand why.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I wrote part 2 and now realize there should probably be a part 3 to this. 
> 
> Greyback is a werewolf baddie. The scary kind of werewolf. Look him up, he's bad news. 
> 
> Squib just means non-magic person born to magic people. People realllyyy don't like them in the books but I don't know much about them other than that. (Although the only 2 we meet really like cats?) However it is canon that non-magic people can make wands.


	8. The Mission (Harry Potter AU part 3)

It had been raining for two solid days. Sheets of water curtaining out of the sky as if the clouds intended to flood the earth. It was, at least partially, working around Jemma and Fitz’s cottage. Their garden was a muddy mess and the grass around the little building was so saturated with puddles that it almost seemed as if she’d been trying to install a moat.

She’d cast a protection spell over herself the minute her feet had touched the soaking soil about half a kilometer away, the usual spot she aimed for when appirating home, so fortunately she was dryer than her home.

As she fumbled for her key, balancing her lunch and her paper work precariously over an extra large puddle, the onslaught of water came to a sudden stop.

Puzzled, she looked up, spotting a patch of sunlight finding it’s way through the grey. Maybe their poor garden would get a break after all.

As she was shaking off her coat and slipping out of her sludge caked shoes, there was a quiet knock at the door.

Jemma frowned. She rarely had visitors. She and Fitz- or only her now she supposed- lived so far out of the way that uninvited guests weren’t something they usually needed to worry and her own parents had stopped visiting the day she’d moved in with Fitz. Now that she thought of it, she couldn’t remember if anyone had _ever_ knocked at their door.  

For a terrifying few seconds, her thoughts leapt to someone at the Ministry having discovered her true intentions. Somewhere she’d slipped up and now they were going to take her away and they were going to hurt her until she either died or betrayed her friends and everything she believed in.

_‘Stop being ridiculous,’_ she scolded herself, taking long breaths in an attempt to calm her thundering heartbeat. _‘What sort of Death Eater knocks first?’_

Even so, she kept her hand inside the pocket of her robes, gripping her wand tightly and holding a spell on the tip of her tongue as she cracked open the door.

The visitor was a woman, tall with bushy black hair tied back in a bun and brown eyes that were rimmed with red. She wore muggle clothing, jeans and a raincoat. Jemma had never seen her before.

“Is… are you Jemma Simmons?” she asked, checking nervously over her shoulder when the wind rattled the front gate.

Jemma hesitated before answering. “I am.”

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and when she spoke again her voice squeaked. “Please. I need your help.”

Still, Jemma hesitated. She really did _look_ like she was in trouble but people could feign emotions that weren’t their own. She did it every day.

“Please,” the woman repeated. “I’m… I’m missing someone and I don’t know what else to do… no one else of your kind will help me.”

“You’re a muggle,” Jemma guessed, surprised. “Look, I’m very sorry about whoever it is but you do have your own police force and-“

The woman grabbed the door as Jemma made to close it, her eyes wild with desperation. “My wife is a witch,” she said forcefully. “And she’s with _you people_ trying to keep the world safe from that man you won’t call by name but she’s _missing._ She hasn’t come home in over a week and not one of you will tell me why!”

Her sudden ferocity crashed over Jemma like a wave but she stood her ground, sizing up her visitor.

She could be lying. Or she could not be lying. Even if she were telling the truth and her wife was with The Order, _she_ wasn’t and that was probably why they were keeping her in the dark. What reason could they have to involve her?

Then she thought of Fitz, remembered the pendant he’d left her brushing against the skin under her blouse, and she felt a flicker of shame.

They had every reason to involve her.

“Come in,” she told her steadily. “Quickly.”

The woman rushed to comply, ducking through the door just as a crash of thunder sounded over the hills and the rain fell again with a vengeance.

“Thank you,” she gasped, stumbling to take off her shoes, which at this point were about fifty percent mud. “Thank you.”

Jemma nodded, trying to appear calm despite the thud of her heart against her chest. She shouldn’t have been doing this, but what other choice did she have?

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she offered politely, taking her guests coat to hang on the rack. Unlike Jemma’s, it was nearly soaked through.

“I… Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” she agreed awkwardly. Her arms came up around her and she shuddered. “I’m chilled to the bone.”

“The rain will do that,” Jemma said.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t know,” the woman replied. She chuckled uneasily and Jemma thought she was probably observant enough to realize that her presence in her house was still on probation. “Being… uh… well Mélanie never needs an umbrella.”

Jemma gave her a weak smile, guessing that Mélanie was her wife’s name. She didn’t recognize it, which meant she probably wasn’t going to be very useful, but she led her into the kitchen anyway.

As she prepared the tea, her guest sat down at the table and Jemma couldn’t help noticing her admiring the woodwork.

“It’s beautiful,” she remarked, prompting a real smile from Jemma.

“It was my grandmother’s,” she told her. She took the seat next to her as they waited for the water to boil. “You already know my name; may I ask yours?”

“It’s Hattie,” she offered. “Hattie Powell. And the witch I’m looking for is Mélanie Morin.”

Jemma shook her head, at a loss. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Hattie’s face fell, her shoulders deflating. “Oh.”

“But I don’t know all of the Order by name,” she rushed on, unable to bear the pain in the other woman’s eyes. “Maybe if you had a picture?”

She nodded tightly, pulling out her wallet and offering up a tiny square photograph. It was a muggle photograph, unnaturally still, that showed Hattie, a woman Jemma guessed must have been Penny, and a young boy with glasses that seemed too big for his face.

“You have son?” Jemma asked, worry prickling at her stomach. If his mother really was with The Order, he might not be safe here. “Is he…?”

“He’s like you,” Hattie told her. “He’s a wizard… or... he will be. He’s only nine.”

“Where is he?” Jemma asked.

“With Mélanie’s parents, in France,” Hattie answered.

France. France was safe. At least for now it was.

Calmed, Jemma squinted at the photograph, focusing on Mélanie. It was easy to see the similarities between her and the little boy, same nose, same ears, same blond curly hair, the same predisposition to magic, but there was something else about Mélanie… something that nagged at the back of Jemma’s mind, that she couldn’t quite shake.

The reason for her familiarity clicked into place, just as the whistle of the tea kettle pierced through the air. Jemma rushed to get it, glad for the distraction and for the time it leant her to collect her thoughts.

“I think,” she said slowly, setting down a hot cup of tea in front of her guest. “That I might be able to find out where Mélanie is.”

Hattie nearly spilled her tea reaching for Jemma’s arm. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, giving it a squeeze. “You have no idea what it’s like, never knowing what’s going with my own family. I was already _terrified_ of Thomas starting school so far away but this… No one tells me anything. My family is split up into pieces and…” she trailed off, eyes bright. “Thank you.”

Jemma didn’t say so, but she had a pretty good idea of what Hattie must be feeling. Fitz could be anywhere and she didn’t even know if he was safe or if he was hurt or… or worse. It wore on her, like the ocean on the shoreline and she was a rock about to tumble off a cliff face. The only thing keeping her anchored was doing her job and if she was right about Mélanie, she was about to have her work cut out for her.

“The only thanks I need is for you to keep yourself safe,” Jemma told her. “Don’t approach anyone else and don’t tell anyone you met with me.” She paused, a terrible thought occurring to her. “How did you know to come to me?”

If she’d been compromised, she wouldn’t be able to help anyone.

“Mélanie talked about you once,” Hattie answered. “She had one of those newspapers with the moving pictures- you know we only have those on the internet, it’s really very fascinating-“ She blushed, realizing she’d started to ramble. “Anyway, she read about you staying on with the Ministry of Magic after the evil wizard took over and she said you must be a spy, that you’d never leave that… oh what was his name?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jemma said quickly, unnerved that her history was so transparent. Either she was putting up a better front than she’d thought, or she was going to be in serious trouble eventually. “It’s better if you don’t remember.”

“It probably is,” Hattie agreed gravely. “Although I wish it wasn’t.”

“Someday it wont be,” Jemma told her optimistically.

Hattie didn’t look like she was so certain but she gave her a kind smile. “Someday.”

/-/-/

Jemma sent a message through her usual means, marking it _priority_ because time was of the essence. She’d expected a quick response, but she hadn’t expected _six_ members of the Order to show up in her living room the very next night.

Melinda May was the first to arrive, stolidly refusing to tell her what was happening until the other members joined her. She was trailed closely by Phil Coulson, Agatha Prenderghast, Helga Pataki, Norman Babcock and Daisy, who Jemma rushed to embrace the minute she stepped into the house.

To her surprise, Daisy stiffened instead of returning the hug, refusing to meet Jemma’s eyes when she tried silently asking what was wrong. It wasn’t until she realized that Daisy was the last one coming in, that they weren’t waiting for anyone else, that she understood why.

“Where is Fitz?” she asked, unable to keep the tension from her voice.

She must have been mistaken, she must have. He was needed somewhere else, or he’d taken the muggle route. Fitz hated both flying _and_ apparition. That had to be why he’d lagged behind…

The Order members shifted uncomfortably, each looking to the other to provide an explanation. Finally, Daisy stepped forward, her expression clawing at Jemma’s heart.

She shook her head, fighting hot tears. “No…”

“He’s alive,” Daisy told her miserably. “Or… or we think he is… Jemma I’m so sorry…”

“Where?” She couldn’t seem to get out more than that. _Alive. He’s alive._ But how long would that last?

“Death Eaters caught up to us,” Agatha said, and though she spoke gently each word felt like a blow. “He was protecting one of the kids and they took him.”

“We went back for him,” Daisy said, tears in her eyes as she spoke. “I went back as soon as I knew Joey was safe but he… they were gone.” She looked away, jaw clenched, and Jemma realized that she was ashamed.

No. That wasn’t right. They’d promised to protect each other, her and Fitz, and Jemma was certain that they had.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she told her quietly.

Daisy sniffed, ducking her head down unhappily, but Jemma didn’t have the strength to offer her anything more. She tried not to imagine what might be happening to Fitz at that moment, that he could be dead already. Her head spun and she closed her eyes, feeling as if her world was slipping away. She wanted to do something, to go to him, but she didn’t even know where he was. How could she stop this if she couldn’t get to him?

_You should have gone with him._ The thought stuck in her head, hot and angry. _If you’d been there maybe you could have kept him safe. If you’d been there, at least you’d be together._

“Ms. Simmons?” May’s voice cut into her thoughts and she realized she’d been clutching the side of the sofa, standing frozen in place as her blood roared in her ears.

“What can I do?” she asked, straightening. She couldn’t give up. Fitz was alive until proven otherwise, so she couldn’t give up.

“I don’t think there’s much you can do right now,” Coulson told her solemnly. “We came to get you out of here.”

Jemma frowned, not understanding. “Why?”

“Fitz was one of the few people who knew what you were really doing,” May answered evenly. Her gaze fell and her next words were weighed down with lead. “If he’s been compromised, you might be too.”

Compromised. She meant if he’d cracked under torture. Jemma’s stomach lurched.

“No,” she said under her breath.

May and Coulson exchanged a look, patronizing, so she said it louder.

“No. Fitz wouldn’t do that.”

“Jemma you don’t know that,” Coulson objected. “I know you want to believe-“

“I don’t _want_ to believe any of this,” she snapped. The Order members looked uncomfortable, thought she was acting emotionally. Well she was, but that didn’t mean she was wrong. “I don’t want him to give them a reason to hurt him, but he will. He’s going to close up and if I run away it’ll all be for nothing. I have a job to do, it’s the reason I made contact with you, and I can still do it!”

Fitz would never betray her, but if she left now she knew she’d be betraying him as well as everything they’d stood for together.

Maybe Coulson was right. Maybe she didn’t know how to help Fitz, didn’t know where he was or how to find out, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do anything. She could help Mélanie and, if she were lucky, she might end up finding a way to help Fitz too. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense to her that it might end up benefiting both of them.

Either way, she couldn’t pass up this opportunity simply because she _might_ be compromised. Especially when she knew deep down in her heart that she wasn’t.

“Let me do this,” she repeated.

May and Coulson exchanged another glance, and Coulson breathed in a long sigh.

“Alright,” he agreed. “One more mission, but then I want you out of there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first Mélanie was going to be called Penelope but I was like "You know what she's from France, she should probably have a French name". She is from France purely for the convenience of her having out of country relatives ALTHOUGH if you decided to picture her as a certain curly haired immunologist I would not blame you. 
> 
> Agatha Prenderghast and Norman Babcock are both characters from Paranorman. Helga Pataki is from Hey Arnold.
> 
> Quick pole: what spell do you think Jemma was going to use?


	9. The Prisoner (Harry Potter AU part 4)

Fitz regained consciousness slowly, sound first, then pain, then dim light and blurry shapes appearing from between his half closed eyelids. His whole body hurt but his arm was the worst, throbbing in time with his heart.

“Oh, there he is.” A woman’s voice, unfamiliar but kind. “That didn’t take as long as I thought it would.”

“Really chewed up this arm didn’t he?” Another, less gentle, voice piped up. “Do you think he’ll lose it?”

“Lucinda!” The first woman scolded. “Can’t you see he’s waking up? You great buffoon.”

“Oh, sorry,” she deadpanned.

One of them prodded at his arm and pain jolted through him. Before he knew it was happening he’d gagged up whatever was left in his stomach.

“Ahhh _gross,”_ Lucinda moaned. “I think he got it on me.”

“Don’t worry dear it’s only a little bit,” the first woman told her distractedly. Fitz felt a cloth on his face, whipping around his mouth and he groaned, struggling to open his eyes.

“W-where… what…” Another wave of nausea hit him and he clamped his mouth shut, taking a sharp breath in through his nose.

“Take your time dear,” she urged. “It’s not easy being interrogated even if _some of us_ can’t remember that.”

Lucinda huffed.

No one here was going to hurt him, that much was becoming clear, and Fitz felt his body relax, allowing an ache to creep over him.

“Owwwww,” he whined. Someone gave his good arm a gentle pat.

“Did you tell ‘em anything?” Lucinda asked, sounding as if she were right next to his ear.

The first woman tsked. “Lucinda! Go get me some water. Make yourself useful.” There was a pause and, although Fitz still didn’t feel ready to open his eyes, he thought that Lucinda had probably hesitated. “Go on! Off. I have work to do.”

Fitz’s damaged arm was lifted and he gasped, yellow spots blooming behind his eyes.

“I know this is unpleasant,” the woman soothed. “But I’m going to need to clean this up. There’s not much I can do down here if it gets infected.”

He grit his teeth, nodding stiffly, and did his best not to move as she continued.

“My name is Mélanie Morin,” she introduced herself as she worked. “You can call me Mélanie, if you’d like. We’re not out of the woods yet, we’re still prisoners in this wretched basement but usually no one bothers with us after they’ve left us here.”

“We’re sort of the reject prisoners,” someone called. It was a man this time and he sounded friendly at least. “We’re probably lucky they still feed us.”

“We’ll get you something to eat after I’m finished,” Mélanie promised. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

Fitz was already struggling to keep himself from vomiting again, each time she wound the cloth around his arm bringing him closer to throwing up, and he seriously doubted he’d be interested in food any time soon.

It had been worse though, before. It had been so much worse.

“I did…” His throat cracked and he coughed, trying to clear it. Had Lucinda been coming with water? He hoped so. “I told them… my name…”

“Is that all?” She seemed surprised.

Was it? The entire ordeal was a smudge in his memory, as if his body were trying to let him forget, but he remembered telling them him his name. He remembered how ashamed he’d been.

“I think so,” he croaked.

Mélanie touched his cheek, her hand warm on his cold clammy skin. He managed to open his eyes to find her smiling at him, a kind face framed by blonde curls.

“You were very brave,” she told him, and for the first time he noticed the traces of French in her accent. “And now you wont need to be brave alone.”

“Welcome to the low grade prisoner hotel,” the man said again, and this time Fitz found a face to the voice. “I’m Trip.”

“Lincoln,” another man introduced himself, raising his hand so Fitz could find him.

“Rosalind,” A woman called to his left.

“Lucinda,” Lucinda told him, balancing a bowl of water as she padded back to them.

“Hartly.”

He turned his head to see woman sitting across from him on the alarmingly grimy floor. There wasn’t any source of light except for the oil lamp that Lucinda was now holding in front of him and Hartly, and the figure beside her, were shrouded in shadows.

“Raina,” the shadowy said.

They all looked thin, Fitz noticed. And most of them had visible wounds, still healing. Trip had his arm in a sling and Hartly had a ripped up shirt tied tightly around her ankle. They were just about the saddest bunch he’d ever seen, but at least they were nice, and he probably didn’t look that much better.

“Fitz,” he said. He spoke as loudly as he could but it still came out as not much more than a whisper.

“Fitz,” Mélanie repeated for everyone else.

He liked Mélanie. He was still on the fence about Lucinda, but Mélanie at least he felt safer with. He didn’t know enough about the others to make a decision, but he guessed that they were all on his side at least.

It could have been worse. It hurt like hell, but at least he was alive and at least he wasn’t alone. Joey wasn’t there so Fitz had to believe that he’d gotten away. He was alive and he was determined to stay that way. He’d kept his mouth shut and now Jemma was safe and he was going to keep his promise to her too.

One way or another, he was going to go back for her.

/-/-/

“I’m so sorry about this Mrs. Phillips,” Jemma muttered, dragging her unconscious colleague out into a secluded alleyway. “It’s only... temporary… ugh…” she panted. “She’s heavier than I expected.”

“Yeah, people are heavy,” Daisy mused. “But I’m not sure why you’re apologizing to her.”

“Mrs. Phillips is always so sweet,” she defended. “Just the other week she brought us all caramel cake for Mr. Cadbury’s retirement.”

“She’s sweet because you’re a pureblood,” Daisy reminded her with shrug.

Jemma frowned. “Right.” Would Mrs. Phillips have brought cake for Daisy? She didn’t think so. She was certain she wouldn’t have done it for Fitz.

She stepped to stand beside Daisy, pulling out a flask from her robe and unscrewing the cap.

“Are you sure this going to work?” Daisy asked.

“Potions _are_ my speciality,” Jemma answered.

Her friend shook her head. “No, not that.” She hesitated, eyebrows knitting together unhappily. “Jemma, you know this might not lead us to Fitz.”

Her stomach twisted painfully but she’d had months of practice wearing a mask and it didn’t waver now. “I know that.”

“And you’re sure-“

“I know what I saw,” she insisted flatly.

“OK,” Daisy agreed.

They were silent for a moment and Jemma regretted snapping at her. This was Daisy, not some stranger, not some dangerous Ministry official she needed hide from. This was her friend.

“I’m so scared for him,” she whispered, afraid to say the words with any more force but needing to say it, out loud at least, before it ate her up inside.

Daisy touched her arm. “I know,” she murmured. “Me too.”

Jemma nodded, pushing back tears. “You should take some of her hair, for the polyjuice potion.”

She watched as Daisy complied, ripping out a few grey strands from the top of Mrs. Phillips head and returning to drop them into the flask which Jemma held out for her. The potion itself wasn’t visible, but a _hiss_ and stream of smoke told them the hair had made contact with it.

“Is she going to taste like old shoes?” Daisy asked, scrunching her nose as Jemma handed it over. She took a sniff and grimaced. “Yuck…”

“I don’t know, it changes depending on who you’re turning into,” Jemma told her. “It’d probably be easier if you just went for it. Don’t think about it too much.”

“OK…” Still repulsed, Daisy took a long swig, her face twisting. “Yuck! I _wish_ that tasted like old shoes,” she complained.

Almost instantly, her skin began to bubble, hair receding into her scalp, ribbons of grey creeping through. Her legs thickened and her fingers shrank, and Jemma was glad that she’d decided to change into Mrs. Phillips' clothes before drinking.

When the transformation was complete, a new set of eyes blinked back at her.

“So…?” She breathed, donning an expression that was so clearly Daisy’s it seemed comically out of place on Mrs. Phillips' face.

“I’m beginning to become offended by your doubts in my abilities,” Jemma teased. “Of course it worked, that was the _easy_ part.” She picked up her bag, pulling the strap over her shoulder. “Let’s get to work.”

/-/-/

They rode the lift up to the meeting room in without intrusion for several floors and Jemma was glad for the chance to collect her thoughts. Things might be said at the meeting, terrible things that might make her blood boil, horrible things that might make her heart crack. She might find out Fitz’s fate, and the truth might crush her, but she had to remain stone faced. No matter what, she couldn’t give them away.

“It’s just like old times, isn’t it?” Daisy asked with a smirk, nudging her shoulder to get her attention. “Sneaking around. Using magic to get ourselves into trouble.”

“I remember you talking me into most of that,” Jemma mused, giving her friend a grateful smile as some of the tension left her shoulders.

She wiggled her eyebrows. “I remember a certain someone waking me up to sneak into the Forbidden Forest with… to meet a certain boy.”

“Oh it wasn’t like _that_ ,” Jemma protested. “He was _brilliant_ and no one wanted to see it. All they saw was how he couldn’t keep up with the ground’s keeper. I needed him-“

“You needed him,” Daisy teased, her mouth twitching as she supressed a giggle, and Jemma almost laughed too at how odd the expression was on Mrs. Phillips' face.

“For his _mind,”_ she pressed. “And of course his hands…”

“His _hands?”_ She was truly laughing now and Jemma groaned, shaking her head.

“That wasn’t until later,” she said under her breath.

The lift doors opened and the pair turned sober as a familiar face pushed their way in.

“Mrs. Phillips,” he greeted.

Daisy gave him a nod, feigning respect. “Sir.”

“Mr. Wormwood,” Jemma greeted, although she hadn’t been spoken to.

He turned to her, frowning as if he’d only just noticed she was there. “Miss Simmons. I didn’t know you’d been invited to this meeting.” His disapproval was subtle but clear. Not everyone at the Ministry was convinced she was on their side.

“Yeah.. I…” Daisy coughed, trying to mimic Mrs. Phillips. “I need her to take notes for me.”

“I thought you were working on a new truth serum?” he asked Jemma, eyes narrowed. “I’m sure that’s much more important.”

“Well that’s up to someone else isn’t it?” she replied dryly, hoping he’d catch the reminder that Mrs. Phillips was, technically, his superior.

His mouth twitched. “I’m sure it is.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence and when the doors opened and Mr. Wormwood stepped out, Daisy took the chance to cast her one last smirk of approval.

No one else questioned why Jemma was trailing Mrs. Phillips. Mrs. Sourcrow even offered them a seat beside her, shooting Mr. Wormwood a smug look as she did.

The room was round and lit by lanterns on the walls. It was one of the finest rooms in the building with spacious seats and hard wood tables that encircled the speaker at the centre.

“We are gathered here because the motion has been put forth to move prisoners from the Crabbe’s house, to a more suitable location,” he was saying now. “Anyone who wishes to speak may, and then we will come to a vote on what to do.”

“Aren’t they all low priority prisoners?” Mr. Wormwood asked. “Why should we put so much of our resources into them?”

“The Crabbe family is not up to the task,” a woman objected. “Even unimportant prisoners are better kept than allowed to escape.”

There were murmurings of approval throughout the room and Daisy and Jemma nodded their heads along, attempting to fit in.

“Remind me again, which prisoners are we talking about?” a man requested.

“Of course.” The speaker routed through his pile of papers, finding a stack of photographs and enchanting them to float in front of the others. “We have Antoine Triplett, Raina Negga, Isabelle Hartley, Lucinda Shortbottom, Lincoln Lee, Rosalind Price, Mélanie Morin and… more recently, Leopold Fitz.”

 _He’s alive!_ Jemma’s heart leapt. _He’s alive, thank God._

“A few of these people aren’t even witches or wizards,” one woman huffed. “Hartley and Fitz are squibs and isn’t Rosalind a muggle?”

“She was married to one of the Order members,” another woman told her. “They thought she might know something.”

“My point is,” the first woman pressed. “How hard could it be to contain them?”

“There are a lot of them for one family to handle though,” the second woman pointed out, and there was another murmur of agreement from the crowd.

As they continued their discussion the photographs floated by and Jemma scanned over them, trying to memorize the faces to match the names, to imagine what they’d look like if they weren’t being tormented by the Death Eaters. She had been right about Mélanie- she’d noticed the photograph on Mrs. Sourcrow’s desk a week ago- but she was surprised that she’d recognized her from this image. She was a stark contrast to the woman Hattie had shown her.

She nearly lost her nerve at the one of Fitz. Greyback had him by the collar of his shirt, holding him up like a hunting trophy. He hung, doll-like and barely conscious, stirring a little when the brute gave him a rough shake, and his arm… his poor arm.

He hadn’t told them anything. She wouldn’t have been allowed in the room if he had, but he’d suffered for his silence. A part of her couldn’t help feeling like it was he fault, because he’d been protecting her it had been her fault, but she couldn’t think about that or she was going to start crying and that would be a disaster.

“Alright then,” the speaker boomed and the photo was snapped away, jolting Jemma back to the present. “All in favour of moving the prisoners.”

Jemma and Daisy’s hands bolted up. This was just what they needed. Moving them would make them vulnerable to an attack, make it easier to help the prisoners escape. When she looked around, she was pleased to see that the majority was voting in favour.

It was true, the Crabbes couldn’t handle all of them and everyone in the room knew it even if they didn’t value the prisoners themselves.

“It’s agreed then,” he said. “We’ll move them two days from now.”

Two days. Two days to prepare an ambush. Two days to get them back.

_‘Hold on Fitz,’ she thought. ‘I’m coming for you so hold on.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hartley was originally going to be Idaho, because I like saying Idaho, but he doesn't have a last name and I didn't feel like giving him one. Plus Hartley is Xena sooooo......
> 
> Shortbottom was just the opposite of Longbottom. I don't think it's an actual name (but let me know if it is)


	10. The Promise (Harry Potter AU part 5)

The moon hung almost full in the clear night sky, white and cold and looking very far away. Fitz shuddered against the wind, letting out a grunt when the chains around his wrists were yanked violently forward, pulling on his still aching arm.

“Sorry,” Lucinda exclaimed, already scrambling to her feet from where she’d stumbled. “Sorry everyone, sorry Fitz.”

“It’s OK,” he muttered, still smarting.

“Keep moving,” Greyback growled, so close that Fitz’s heart pounded against his chest. “Into the back.”

“A truck?” Lincoln sounded confused. “Isn’t that a muggle vehicle?” He turned to Trip, the closest muggle born in the group, and the other man shook his head disapprovingly.

“I thought _death eaters_ would use magic,” he said defiantly.

“It is magic,” Crabbe snapped. “A self driving truck.”

“Because they couldn’t figure out how to drive,” Fitz taunted.

“Boys,” Mélanie warned under her breath.

She was too late though, Greyback had already rounded on Fitz, knocking him over with a painful thud that knocked the wind out of him and pressing his knee into his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. Fleetingly, Fitz wondered if he’d been the target for being the last to speak, or because he was perceived as the weakest. It didn’t matter, after what they’d been through together he’d take a hit for any of the other prisoners. Even Lucinda.

“You haven’t been keeping them in line,” Greyback told Crabbe disapprovingly, although there was an air of superiority to his statement as well. He leaned in close enough for Fitz to catch the stench of his breath. “But you’ll listen to me,” he hissed, creeping a gnarled hand towards Fitz’s injured arm. “Even a dirty squib like you must know better than to anger a werewolf the night before a full moon.” A claw brushed one of the slowly healing gashes and Fitz squirmed, fear pumping through him.

“Please don’t!” It was Mélanie, shrill with alarm. “We’ll be quiet. We’ll do what you want.”

The werewolf paused, glaring down at Fitz before, mercifully, moving away to let him up.

“Into the truck,” he barked. “All of you!”

The group rushed to obey, scrambling in as fast as they could while chained together as they were. When the door was slammed behind them, despite the darkness and the terrible sense of being closed in once again, there was an audible sigh of relief.

“I don’t think I like what he’s done with his gift,” Raina commented calmly.

“His _gift_?” Hartley questioned, but Raina only hummed. “You are one weird witch,” she told her, although there was something akin to affection in her words. Acceptance maybe.

“Thanks,” Fitz whispered to Mélanie, hearing her breathing not far away. There were no seats so they sat on the floor which, from what he could feel, was even more disgusting than what they’d been sitting on in the basement.

“Werewolf bites aren’t easy to mend,” she reminded him sternly. “I worked too hard fixing you up for you to get yourself torn to scraps again.”

Fitz nodded but, realizing she couldn’t see him, gave a quiet, “Yeah.” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

The engine started with a rumble and they were moving, rolling over the ground, each bump jumbling them.

He didn’t know where they were going next but he was scared. Scared for himself, for the others. Scared of being separated or being killed. Maybe they were carting them off to their execution.

Even though it was unnecessary in the pitch black, Fitz closed his eyes and thought of Jemma. He tried to picture he face, in as much detail as he could, remember her voice, the smell of her hair.

_‘She’ll be OK,’ he told himself. ‘She’s smart and she’s strong and she’ll be OK.’_

It was the last good thing he had left to hold onto and he held it fiercely through every turn and toss of the truck along the night road.

/-/-/

Jemma sat beside her new partner in the front seat of an old muggle vehicle, dressed in muggle clothes and feeling very far from herself with her wrinkled skin and wispy silver hair. She caught her reflection in the rear-view mirror, her spectacles glinting red with the blinking hazard lights.

Fitz had told her once, when things had gotten really dangerous, when she was scared, that he still knew he’d live to see her as an old woman. With some amusement, she thought that this probably wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

She couldn’t help admiring her handiwork, despite the mice gnawing at her stomach. Her aging potion had been flawless and she looked just as she’d hoped she would. Her body felt the way she’d expected it too as well, although she wasn’t as satisfied with that part.

“I’m not sure I could run very far like this,” she muttered, turning to the elderly-seeming man on the driver’s side.

The man, Idaho, cocked an eyebrow. “You’re a witch, when are you going to need to _run?”_

Right. Of course.

She felt her wand, tucked into the inside of her jacket. Muggle clothing had completely inadequate pockets for a witch and she was uneasy about it slipping out. Her hand kept running over it, taking comfort in the bump.

 Alder with unicorn hair core. Fitz had made it for, so many years ago, in her early years at school when hers had been snapped in half in an unfortunate broomstick accident. Together they’d slipped into the forbidden forest and met one of the breathtaking creatures. What had captivated her the most, even more than silver beast itself, was how it took to Fitz. He was gentle and kind, with a good heart even then, and it had recognized that right away. Something that had taken her a little longer to accomplish.

“Thank you for volunteering for this,” she said to Idaho, trying to distract herself from all these thoughts of Fitz, worried they’d make her lose focus. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you-“

“Hartley would have done the same for me,” he assured her. “Besides she still owes me a forty galleons for our night out last month.”

“ _Forty?”_ Jemma gasped. “How much did you have to drink?”

“It was a bad breakup,” he defended.

A pair of lights to their right suddenly caught their attention and they sat straight up in their seats, staring out the side window at the approaching vehicle.

“Is that-“ Jemma asked, but Idaho was already getting out of the car.

“It must be,” he muttered.

She followed him, getting slowly to her feet when she’d opened her door and stepping to stand beside him.

_Here we go._

Their vehicle was parked sideways in the middle of the road, baring any access further down. The front where all the mechanical parts were, was opened and Idaho had bewitched it to spout a steady trail of grey smoke.

Jemma took a deep breath as two figures exited the truck, preparing her role.

“What’s going on?” One figure questioned grouchily. “Why’d it stop?”

“Because we can’t drive through the car,” the other growled.

“Well if we’d made it fly-“

“Shut up.” The second man, much taller than the first, cast his companion a stern glare before stopped in front of Jemma and Idaho.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, and though he spoke calmly Jemma could sense the threat just behind his teeth.

She recognized who this was, a flash of anger burning through her as she did. This was Greyback. This was the man who’d turned countless innocent children into his kind, who’d maimed and killed for the pleasure of it, who’d tortured Fitz….

“Terribly sorry,” she said, forcing her voice to sweeten into butterscotch despite her molten core. “We seem to be having difficulties with our car.”

“It’s the floosh whizzler,” Idaho said matter-of-factly.

“Oh yes, the _floosh whizzler_ ,” she agreed. “It’s so old I’m surprised it still whizzles.” She could only pray that the two wizards were as clueless about cars as they were. “But there’s a hole in it and I’m afraid we can’t move our car until we’ve fixed it.”

“We have to wait for them to fix their flooz wisher?’ the other man, Crabbe she realized, complained loudly. “How long will that take.”

Greyback smiled, baring pointed fangs so that the expression seemed closer to a snarl. “Oh, we wont need to worry about that,” he said softly.

With a loud growl the only warning of danger, he sprung but Jemma was ready and her wand flew out in a blink.

“ _Confringo_!” she shouted, unnervingly satisfied when the beast man was thrown backwards.

 She realized that she’d wanted to do more than send him back, that a completely different spell had been on the tip of her tongue before she’d changed her mind. She couldn’t break the law though, not like this, and there was a reason certain curses were called unforgivable.

 _“fiendfyre._ ” A flame dragon burst from Crabbes wand but Idaho was quicker.

“ _Protego!”_

The shield protected both Jemma and himself, bending the flames past it in a blinding and incredibly hot stream. She screamed, fearing they’d be burned to dust anyway, but it passed with both of them blistered but alive.

They were both still blinking away spots when Jemma was hit hard from the right, her wand flying out of her hand. She smelled foul breath above her, clawed hands pinned her down as Greyback flashed his fangs.

“Did you really think you could trick us little witch?” he taunted. He drew back, ready to lunge forward and Jemma screwed her eyes shut, terror coursing through her.

_It was worth it. If it saved Fitz, it was worth it._

“Stupify!”

The spell didn’t come from Idaho, but from a witch she didn’t recognize. Greyback twitched, then fell onto her, his weight pinning her down.

“Jemma!”

Blearily, she saw someone pushing him off of her, only using one arm and before she had time to recognize Fitz’s voice he was bundling her up with that same arm.

“Fitz!” she gasped. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she locked her arms around him, holding him tightly. “Oh Fitz, you’re alright. Thank God, I was so scared.” She clutched at him, weeping at how solid he was, how warm, how real.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m OK, I promise.”

“You must have been frightened,” she squeaked. _And hungry, and tired, and hurt._

“Of that oversized Chihuahua?” he chuckled. She chocked out a watery laugh that turned into a sob and he pushed his cheek against hers. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “But I kept thinking of you and that got me through it.”

“I think I was doing the same,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her but after a minute he pulled back, holding her face between his hands.

“Jemma!” he gasped, gently tilting her chin for a better look. “What did they do to you?”

“It’s only an aging potion Fitz, it’ll ware off,” she assured him.

“But you’ve been burned!” he fussed. “That’s no aging potion. I may be a squib but I still know how magic works. You’re hurt.”

And his arm was completely mangled. “Don’t call yourself that,” she muttered.

“It’s what I am,” he mumbled, unconcerned as he continued to check her over. “Who did this?” he demanded. “Look at your poor neck.”

“It only stings when I move,” she told him and he frowned at her. “Anyway, I’m more worried about you.”

“I think we could both use a trip to St. Mungos,” he conceded.

“And a nap,” she sighed. “Or maybe that’s just the aging potion.”

He helped her up and they walked hand in hand to where the others were checking over the newly freed prisoners.

Daisy gave Fitz a tight hug when she spotted them, breathing out an apology that he told her wasn’t necessary as he returned the embrace as best he could with one arm.

“They were so focused on you two they didn’t see us coming in from behind,” she told Jemma proudly. “Once we’d freed the prisoners and handed out the wands we practically had an army on our side.” Her eyes caught on their injuries and she winced. “You two might want to see someone about that.”

“Jemma should,” Fitz agreed. “But Mélanie has already done what she can for me and magic wont heal a werewolf bite.”

Daisy swore. “Greyback did that to you? I've seen the pictures but...” Her eyes flared. “We shouldn’t have let him escape…”

“He got away?” Jemma gasped.

Daisy’s forehead wrinkled in frustration. “Crabbe managed to grab a hold of him and apparate away,” she told her.

“Most of us are just grateful that _we_ escaped,” Fitz assured her, gesturing around to the other prisoners.

Jemma squeezed his hand, feeling a rush of gratitude for exactly that. Fitz was safe where he belonged and they’d helped Mélanie and everyone else go back to their families too. Her cover had surely been compromised, but she was alright with that. Especially if it meant she’d be allowed to fight alongside Fitz and Daisy.

“And we still have each other,” she added quietly.

Fitz’s eyes met hers and in the heartbeat that followed it suddenly seemed possible that they could win. One life at a time, they could win against the death and destruction this new reign had comforted them with. And then, together, they could finally begin the rest of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I had to move the other weekend and that took a lot of time. 
> 
> also for notapepper there is your Idaho Spudds :P I guessed he would go and rescue his friend.


End file.
